The Kel Incedent
by Travis Celendel
Summary: Really D20 Modern, not DnD. Story of Scott, a shadow slayer, and his friends as they join a secret orginization and defeat magical forces please R
1. BOOM

Welcome. This is my second attempt at fic writing.After nobody reveiwed myother story, I decided to write about my favorite character that I've ever played, Scott.I know it's on the short side, But I tried to keep to the origanal story as much as possible, and this is pretty much how it happened. I promise the later chapters will be much longer.Any who, Sit back, relax, close your eyes (it's much better that way) and enjoy the first installment of the SIN series.

Scott's coat billowed behind him as he rode down the hiway on his Harley. The seting sun painted the desert with a reddish tint. His sunglasses stopped him from having to squint to hard against the sun's final rays. He saw the warehouse off in the distance, coming up fast. It could barely be called that, as it was not much bigger than the average barn. He coasted the motorcycle for the last mile, and walked it in from there. He made as little noise as possible as he approached, he was trying to catch them by surprise. He noticed Two other cars. To be technical, one was a van, and one was a Ford Bronco. He felt for his sword. He winced when he remembered that he had to leave the Katana in his hotel room.

Scott O'Connor was intimidating sight. He stood almost a head taller than most men. He had a square jaw and set features. His blonde hair was cut short in a crew-cut. His eyes weren't visable throught his sunglasses. His shoulders were wide, and his chest was sculpted, that mutch was visable through his black t-shirt. Desite the aura of menace that seemed to radiate from him, he was on of those hard to remember people. Perhaps that's why He worked as a plain clothes cop. He pulled his gloves tight and cracked his fingers. The tall man reached behind his back From underneath the red leather duster he wore he pulled out a 10-guege shotgun. He walked slowly up to the door and pumped the gun. He stepped back to kick it down when it burst open and out of it poured two men.

One was dressed in all black like a priest and wore a wide brimmed hat. He stood about a head and a half shorter than Scott. The other was taller than his companion by about a head. He wore old blue jeans and a yellow windbreaker, which was tight against his massive chest and arms. The shotgun was leveled at them without any conscious effort on Scott's part. The man in the priest getup had his hands in the air, while the bigger one held a teenage girl in his arms. Scott didn't know what was going past the fact that the little girl in the man's arms was what he was here for.

His decision was made easier when He heard the shouts behind them. He motioned to the side with his barrel and aimed after the two were out of his line of fire. The guy with a Mohawk that was chasing them down slid to a stop when he saw the huge gun. Scott heard the two men enter the van, but was preocupied with the punker infront of him, who had just jumped behind the door, and when he emerged, he had an Uzi. Scott wasted no time pulling the trigger and pumping. He heard the van start up and he cursed. He ran to his bike and turned the ignition. It roared to life and he looked at the warehouse just in time to see an AK-47 aimed at him. With a curse that was drowned out by the bike's rumbling. He started off and was soon right behind the white van.

He swerved from side to side as bullets whizzed past. He swore again and looked back. The punks were piling into the bronco. He swore again and pulled off the road. He zoomed past the van and kept going for about a mile.. He skidded to a spinning stop, now facing the approaching traffic, and hit the throttle again. He motioned for the two in the van to get off of the road as he charged at them. They obliged and then it was a clear shot at the trailing Bronco. He stayed in front of them Even as they tried to swerve. They pulled left abut a hundred feet in front of him and he measured for it. He put his feet on the gas tank and jumped. His blue streak might have been heard over the engine, but the explosion from impact blasted away all of the words. He flew in the air for a good three seconds before crashing to the ground.


	2. The Smell of Death

He awoke with a start. It took his eyes several seconds to come to focus. All he knew was that he was hot, and the blankets that were scratching up his bare legs didn't help. By the time he managed to kick off the blankets, his eyes had begun to register his surroundings as more than a white blur. Now he could see that it was as boring a room as he had imagined. There were plain white walls, all with mysterious yellow stains, and no windows. The only light was coming from the overhead ceiling fan. Scott determined that it was sometime after midday, judging by the heat and the soap opera that was playing lowly on a tiny television in the far corner. Scott continued to sweat even though the blanket was now on the floor, mainly because the only breeze was coming from the light source, and it was going too slowly to affect anything. He looked for a "call nurse" button, but found none. He rolled his eyes and looked once more toward the small TV. He decided that he really couldn't possibly care less if Jennifer's baby was Jerome's or Charlie's. With a grunt, he heaved himself out of bed.

He had stumbled about halfway across the cold tile floor barefoot when the door opened. His hand reached for the pistol at his hip. He sighed as he remembered it wasn't there. Nor were his pants. For the first time, he noticed that he was wearing a green hospital apron. He averted his eyes from the doorway. It was much brighter in the hallway than in the room. He saw a huge silhouette block out most of the light.

"You really shouldn't be up yet. You were almost dead for quite a while." His voice was deep, but gentle. Scott arched an eyebrow. "Ever since you crashed into those punks. Don't you remember?" This time Scott had both eyebrows raised.

"Yes, I remember, but who are you?" His voice rasped a little, a sign that it had been dry for a while now.

The large man stepped fully into the room. It was then that Scott noticed that he wasn't really a man as much as a boy. He couldn't have been more than 17. He was large enough, but his face was more like a child's. Scott could even see the peach fuzz on his face. "My name is Anthony Savings." Scott smiled at the name. "But every body just calls me Tony."

Scott nodded. "Pleasure to meet you Tony. I assume I can thank you for peeling my body from the side of the road?" Tony dipped his head in affirmation. "So where is the priest?"

"Oh, I'm no priest." The voice came from the doorway, where the smaller of the pair was standing, hat in hand. Scott looked down to him. He had black curly hair. Scott guessed he had more than a little Italian in him. "At least not anymore." His voice was smooth, almost greasy. He reached out his hand and Scott shook it. "My name is Antonio Garcia." Scott's smile grew. "What"  
He shook his head. "Nothing, but do you mind if I call you Tony?"

"Don't see why not." He replied. Scott started laughing now. He quickly calmed himself and wiped his eye.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about how I'm gonna have to tell the boys at the station about how I was saved by Tony One and Tony Two."

"Which one of us is number one?" Antonio asked.

Scott thought about it. "I suppose since I met the big fella first, he'd be number one." Anthony chuckled as Antonio started to rebut.

Before they had much of a chance to argue, the nurse walked in. She was garbed like a nurse that one might see in a movie playing late night on CineMax. She was pushing a tray filled with clear plastic sacks. The plastic was clear at least, which gave them a good look at the milky yellow liquid. She smiled. She was quite cute. She tried to pin all of her blonde hair up in he paper hat, but a few strands escaped and hung in front of her face. She also happened to fill out her uniform quite nicely, as Antonio would point out later. "Excuse me Mr. O'Connor, Father, Tony." She paused before speaking the last name. Her face started to turn red.

Antonio glanced slightly incredulously to the big Tony before winking at the nurse. "Sweetie, drop the father thing. You can call me daddy." His voice turned from slightly greasy to sickeningly so. She giggled and shook her head, which freed more hair.

"Sorry, I don't do priests." She turned and pushed the cart to the middle of the room. Her hips swayed tantalizingly. Even Scott caught himself staring. Antonio was trying to close his dropped mouth with his hand, all the wile trying to explain that he was no longer a priest. She turned around with one of the sacks in her hand. "Alright Mr. O'Connor, time for your treatment." Scott looked at her like she was a raving lunatic.

"You want to put that," He pointed to the bag, "in me?" He asked it calmly, but with an edge that conveyed how crazy he thought she was. She shrugged. "Doctors orders." It was such a simple statement. As if she would do anything the doctor told her to. Scott suspected that she did, but kept that to himself.

"I really don't give half a rat's shit what the doctor says. You are not going to inject that piss into my arm."

Antonio spoke up. "Just do it man. She's super hot."

"I don't care if she's hot, no pee in me."

"I said super-" He was interrupted by Scott's arm shooting out in front of him.

"Silence! Tonytwo." He looked at the former priest. "I feel fine now. I'm going to collect my clothes and weapons." At this, Tony1 spoke up.

"Uh, your clothes wont be a problem, but the guns might be." Scott turned his head very slowly to face the big man that spoke up, who seemed to wilt under the gaze. "You see, um, when we brought you here, the police confiscated your guns. By the way, why do you carry three guns?" Scott placed his face in his hands and screamed. When he lifted it, he was calm. He turned to Tony2.

"Can I get a ride to the Police Station?"

Tony2 shrugged. "Don't see why not."

With that, the party headed down and within the next three hours, in which Scott got three marriage proposals based on his bare buttocks alone (one from a male nurse), they were out of the hospital and headed towards the PD. He was glad to be out of there. He was hotter now, garbed in his scratched up leather long coat, but at least there was no longer the smell, it smelled like death.


End file.
